


How Bright The Light

by ahvengering



Series: Shades Of Black And White [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Domestic Avengers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Superfamily, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:12:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahvengering/pseuds/ahvengering
Summary: In the wake of the horrific ordeals that the Stark-Rogers family has gone through, they aren't sure what to do. Peter struggles with the overwhelming amount of trauma he's been forced to endure, Tony attempts to support his son while dealing with his own demons, and Steve feels as though he's about to break from the pressure of being responsible for his family's safety.Sometimes, the hardest part of the struggle is the aftermath.





	How Bright The Light

**Author's Note:**

> ....did you miss me?
> 
> It's been almost a year. This final act of the trilogy that got me started in the Avengers fanfiction world has been sitting in the drafts folder on my computer since October 2017. Now, it's time for it to see the light of day. Second chapter will hopefully be up by September.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with Peter, with Tony, with Steve, and most of all, with me. Higher, further, faster, friends.

“Steve.”

Steve looked up from the tear-stained notebook in front of him to see Natasha rush in through the doorway. He turned his face away, rubbing a hand over his red eyes. “Not really a good time, Nat-”

“Come. Now.” She grabbed his arm, yanking him up from the couch and dragging him out of the living room. “There’s something you need to see.”

Steve followed her blindly, all his senses dulled by the heartache ripping a hole in his chest. After a few moments, he realized that she was leading him to his and Tony’s bedroom-the current resting place of Peter’s body.

“Natasha, I can’t.” Steve stopped abruptly, clenching his fists as his eyes began to water again. “I can’t see his-the body again, it’s too-it’s too soon.”

“That’s what I’m showing you,” Natasha said irritably, digging her nails into his arm and earning a yelp. “Come on, Steve!”

Steve pushed open the door, mentally preparing himself to once again see his son’s dead body lying on the bed that he’d never again be able to sleep in without picturing Peter’s lifeless corpse. “This isn’t a good-”

Steve stopped cold when he spotted the wrinkled blankets and mussed pillows-completely devoid of any dead bodies.

“Peter’s gone.” Natasha was careful to keep her voice low, but Steve could hear the barest undercurrent of hope. “I came in here to pay my respects and found it empty.”

Steve felt a spark light up somewhere deep in his heart, but he quashed it quickly, not letting himself be led astray by false feelings. “Peter’s dead. We took his pulse. He-”

“Dead people don’t get up and leave!” Natasha exclaimed heatedly. She took a deep breath and continued, only slightly calmer. “I’m not saying we should go telling everyone that Peter is alive-”

“We can’t give Tony that kind of false hope,” Steve said quietly.

“I know,” Nat agreed, “Which is why we need to find out where the body went.”

“What if Tony asks?” Steve questioned. “He’ll want to know where his-where our son’s body is.”

“Tell him we moved it to my room,” Nat said as she went over to the bed, looking around for any clues as to where Peter might have gone. “And if I’m wrong about Peter being alive, he won’t be in any worse pain than he is now.”

“Deal.” Steve sighed, closing his eyes momentarily as he leaned against the doorframe. “Okay. Okay, so-Peter. If he’d left-assuming he’s…alive, and we’re not just going on a damn wild goose chase-where would he have gone? He could be anywhere!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Language, Captain.” Steve snorted as she continued. “And where would you go if you woke up alone and confused in Tony Stark’s tower? Where is Tony always most likely to be?”

Steve was gone before Natasha could get to the door.

……………

Tony turned the lock on the guest bathroom door and leaned against the bland beige wall, letting out a long breath as he stared at himself in the mirror.

The dark bags under his eyes gave way to sallow skin, emphasized even more by the red rims and tear streaks coating his cheeks. His hands, usually so steady since he had quit drinking, were shaking minutely once again, goosebumps lining his arms even in the perfectly maintained temperature of the tower. He’d never felt grief as strong as this-not when his parents had died, not when Obie had betrayed him, not even when it had looked like he might lose Steve forever. His heart ached beyond any pain he’d experienced, and the worst part was that he could never imagine it getting better.

One by one, Tony ticked through some of his past coping mechanisms in his mind. The most obvious one that jumped to the forefront was sex, which was not an option. He and Steve were both grieving-neither wanted to be dicked down. The next was alcohol-also not an option, as he’d been clean for Peter’s entire life, and he wasn’t about to let go of that accomplishment, not even when the person he’d done it for was gone. Tinkering on his pet projects wouldn’t do a thing, not in the face of pain this vast.

That left only one idea, hovering at the forefront of his mind. The last coping mechanism was nearly as old as alcohol, in Tony Stark terms, and a guaranteed way to keep the sheer pain of grief and anger at bay long enough to comfort those around him. He hadn’t done it for years, not since Steve had found out.

Tony fingered the switchblade in his palm, wondering vaguely when it had made the journey from the pocket of his jeans to the space between his shaking fingers.

…………….

Steve threw open the door to Tony’s workshop, his heart pounding in anticipation. Natasha followed him inside and they made short work of searching the place from top to bottom-only to come up with nothing. Steve was checking the tiny workshop bathroom when Natasha called his name.

“Steve. Look at this.”

He jogged to her side, peering over her shoulder at a red smudge on the edge of Tony’s desk in front of a recently awoken computer screen. “What?”

The screen hosted a view of each security camera on the Avengers’ floor. Natasha gestured at it, confusion in her voice. “Why would Tony have eyes on just this floor?”

“Peter,” Steve said quickly. “Peter’s been here. He pulled this up to find out where we were…” he trailed off, then continued, frustrated. “But if none of us were on here, where would he have gone?”

“Hang on.” Natasha pointed to the guest bathroom, at a figure huddled on the floor. “Is that him?”

Steve frowned, leaning forward to mess with the zoom function. “I can’t tell. Wait, is that-”

“Tony.” Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper as they took in the sight before them. In the grainy image, Tony was huddled on the bathroom floor, his pocket knife on the floor beside him.

“What is he-oh, no,” Steve whispered, feeling his heart plummet even further. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“You should go to him,” Nat said quietly. “I’ll find Peter.”

Steve straightened up, his face grim and resigned. “If Peter saw the same thing we did, where do you think he’s heading next?”

……………..

Peter stumbled forward, legs barely supporting him as he made his painstaking journey towards the bathroom where his father lay huddled on the floor.

He couldn’t remember much. There was a strange blank space at the forefront of his mind, cobwebs muddling everything together into a stringy mess. He remembered Skip, and the meeting at the school, and then being in an alleyway and being injected and-nothing.

Leaning against the wall near the bathroom, Peter took a heaving breath and forced himself to rest for a moment as his still-healing body protested all the abrupt movement. After several moments of staring at the dull grey wall, he lurched forward, knocking unsteadily on the bathroom door.

Tony’s voice sounded moments later, croaky. “Occupied.”

Peter frowned, wondering what was wrong and why Tony was curled up on the floor of the bathroom. “Da-dad?” He coughed, surprised at the roughness of his own voice. “What’s going on?”

His question was met with a heavy silence, before Tony’s voice carried through the locked door, impossibly small and quiet. “I’m imagining it. He’s gone. Fuck, he’s gone, Tony, don’t let your brain trick you like this-”

“Dad, it’s me, it’s Peter,” Peter said quickly, confused. He coughed again and slid down the doorframe to his knees, jiggling the handle. “Will-will you let me in? Please?”

Peter could hear Tony shuffling around in the bathroom, standing and crossing to the door. “You’re going to open the door and make your stupid brain wrap around the fact that your son is gone. He’s not coming back, because you were too late and Peter is-”

The door swung open and Tony nearly fell forward, leaning heavily on the frame. His eyes traveled down to meet Peter’s wide, scared brown ones and the last word of his sentence hissed out in a trailed whisper.

“Dead.”

Peter felt his heart seize. “What?”

Suddenly, Tony’s eyes rolled backwards in his head and he fell forward, collapsing with an almighty crash onto the hallway carpet. Peter fell back in shock with a yelp, hissing as his chest burned with the small movement.

“Peter!”

Peter turned at the sound to see Steve standing behind him, his eyes red and swollen, with Natasha trailing behind. He whimpered, fear taking hold of his heart. “Dad, he just collapsed! And he said something about me-about me being gone, being dead? I-I don’t know what I did, I’m sorry! I’m sorry-”

Steve rushed forward, cutting off Peter’s litany of apologies and falling to his knees to wrap his arms around his son, wild, choked sobs echoing harshly off the hallway walls. His hands carded through Peter’s messy brown hair as he whispered apologies and endearments into his son’s hair, tears soaking the thin material of Peter’s shirt. After a moment of shock, Peter’s shaky arms came up around his father, hands stroking Steve’s broad back.

“Peter…” Steve pulled away, wiping his eyes and mouth with the back of a hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I-well, I promise I’ll explain everything once I take care of Tony, okay?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Peter said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “He just-he just collapsed, I couldn’t do anything to help him-”

“Hush. It’s not your fault.” Natasha knelt silently on the floor beside Peter, slinking an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him to her side. “Tony has been under a lot of stress and sometimes, when that happens, he does things that he shouldn’t. Your dad is going to make sure he’s okay.”

Steve stood up again, Tony cradled in his arms, and hesitated for a moment, guilt crossing his face as he looked between his husband and his son. “Natasha, I-”

“Go. Take him to Bruce.” Natasha squeezed Peter gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he stared at Tony’s arm dangling in front of Steve. “I’ll watch after the little one.”

Steve nodded once, looked at Peter for a split second with the most sympathetic gaze he could muster, and then took off towards Bruce’s lab with Tony’s head resting limply against his shoulder.

Peter looked down at the floor in the sudden silence around him and Natasha, biting his lip. “Natasha, I-I need to know, honestly, what-what happened. Was I-was I…dead?”

Natasha stared at the back of Peter’s neck, at the way the hair there was standing on end and how tense every single muscle was. She sighed and stood up, pulling Peter to his unsteady feet. “Let’s go have a cup of tea.”

……………

“He’ll be okay.” Bruce closed the door to the bedroom with a quiet click. “He cut a little deeper than usual, so we’ll need to keep an eye on the dressing. I gave him a sedative that should last anywhere between four and six hours-he hasn’t been sleeping at all.”

“I know,” Steve said in a hoarse voice. “I just…shit. Bruce, I had no idea it had gotten this bad again.”

“This does seem to be the first relapse,” Bruce reminded him gently. “There’s no signs of scarring more recent than the last time I took care of him after an incident like this.”

Steve nodded, unable to find words. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “At least he’s resting.”

“Steve…” Bruce hesitated, before speaking in a soft voice. “This isn’t your fault. You and Tony have been through more than any parents should ever have to go through.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a rueful look on his face. “It’s going to take awhile for things to go back to normal. For Peter, and for the two of you. There’s a lot you’ll need to sort through. Personally, I’d recommend therapy, but I know for Tony that’s unlikely. I don’t know how Peter would feel about it.”

“Therapy is hard when you’re like us,” Steve said, smiling wearily. “I tried it, when I first woke up. Nobody really understands what it’s like to wake up from seventy years in an ice block. And I’m sure Tony had a hell of a time talking to his first therapist about Afghanistan and the arc reactor.” He sighed, standing up from where he’d been sitting on the hallway floor. “Still-maybe it’s time to give it another try. If not for us, at least to set an example for Peter. God knows he’s going to need to talk to someone about everything that’s happened.”

“Well, to start, you might want to go and talk to Peter,” Bruce said gently. “I’m sure by now he’s more than a little freaked out.”

“Peter! Shit, you’re right,” Steve said, standing abruptly. He hesitated, looking back at the bedroom. “You’re sure-”

“Tony is in good hands.” Bruce smiled reassuringly, squeezing Steve’s arm. “He just needs rest. And Peter needs his dad to explain what’s going on.”

Steve hesitated only a moment more, before nodding resolutely and taking off at a steady jog towards the kitchen.

………………     

“So I was…dead?”

Natasha nodded, keeping her face guarded to avoid freaking Peter out any more than he already was. “Only for a little bit. It’s possible that your healing factor needed the coma state to give itself time to begin the process of knitting you back together.”

Peter nodded, pale. “Okay. This is a lot.”

“Of course it is,” Natasha said softly, reaching forward and carding a hand through Peter’s hair. “Peter, I’m so sorry that we didn’t find you sooner.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said hoarsely. “This whole thing, everything that’s happened—Skip, the kidnapping, all of it—it’s all just a mess.”

“Peter.”

Peter looked around to see Steve hesitating in the doorway, his eyes still red. Natasha stood quietly and walked around the table, placing a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“I’m here if you need me, little spider,” Natasha said softly, and pressed a kiss to his hair before exiting the kitchen.

Peter stared at the tile, his heart pounding. He had no idea what to say.

“Peter, can I…” Steve took a long breath. “Can I hug you?”

“Yes?” Peter replied, though it was more of a question. Steve was staring at him as though he didn’t quite believe he was real.

He approached his son hesitantly, as if afraid he might disappear at any moment. Then, he pulled Peter into a careful hug, resting his chin on top of his son’s head.

“Peter, I…god, I don’t even know what to say,” Steve said with a croaky laugh. “I keep apologizing, but I don’t know what else to do. You’ve been through so much, sweetheart, so much more than you ever should have had to deal with.”

“I missed you,” Peter whispered into Steve’s shoulder, feeling his eyes start to prickle with tears. “You and dad. I was so scared. I mean, it was partly the kidnapping and everything that happened with Skip and all of it was overwhelming, but…” Peter was nearly sobbing now, his words coming out tightly. “I think the scariest thing was thinking that I might never see you and dad again.”

“Peter, I am so sorry,” Steve whispered, “and I promise you that no matter what, your dad and I will always try so hard to be there for you. We will always do our best to find you and keep you safe, okay?” He kissed Peter’s head, rubbing a hand up and down his shaking back. “I know that we haven’t done the best job of that in the recent months, but we love you so much. We’re going to get through this, okay? I promise you, we’re going to be okay.”

Peter nodded against Steve’s shoulder, gasping through his sobs as he slowly calmed down. After a few moments, he pulled away, rubbing his eyes with a hand. “I…I think I should find someone to talk to. Like a…a therapist. Or something. I don’t know what to do from here.”

Steve nodded, carding a hand through his son’s hair. “We’ll get you whatever you need, Peter. Anything. I know Bruce has a list of people already on hand.”

“And I might…I think I need to figure out what I need, I guess,” Peter said softly, pulling back a little bit from Steve to sit back in his chair. “I don’t know what I need. I don’t know whether it would be better to go back to school and feel normal again or to take time off and process what’s happened or if that would just make me dwell on all of it or if I should talk to Ned or just give it some time or—”

“Peter, hey,” Steve said, quickly pulling up a chair and sitting down across from Peter, who was beginning to hyperventilate. “Buddy, can you breathe with me? Just slow. Yep. Like that, just in and out with me, okay?”

Peter’s breathing evened out and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry. And work on that, too, I guess.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Steve said softly. “Nothing at all.”

Peter nodded, staying silent for a few moments as he attempted to return his breathing to a normal pace. After a couple minutes, he spoke. “How’s dad?”

Steve let out a long breath. “He’s okay. I think he’s also going to need some time to figure out what he needs. Your dad, he…well, he has a thing—a coping mechanism, is what it’s called—”

“Dad cuts. I know.” Peter looked up at Steve’s sharp intake of breath. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to be casual about it. It was one of those things that he told me about when I became a teenager.”

“I think he’s worried that you’re going to be too much like either of us,” Steve said quietly. “Either way, he’s going to be okay. He just needs a little time to recover.”

“I know.” Peter smiled weakly, the first smile he’d given Steve since he’d…well, since he’d died, and Steve felt his heart drop. “Can…can I see him? Even just for a bit.”

“Of course, Pete,” Steve said, smiling back at his son and trying to resist the urge to cry over how close they’d come to losing him forever. “Let’s go see him now, okay? He might not be awake yet, though.”

“That’s okay.” Peter stood and followed Steve to the door. “I just want to make sure he’s okay with my own eyes.”

……..

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

Tony cracked an eye open to see Bruce standing over him, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Tony groaned and threw a heavily bandaged arm over his face, closing his eyes. “Five more minutes, please, mother.”

“Tony.” Bruce’s voice softened. “I need you to wake up now, okay? I need to tell you something important.”

“As important as my beauty sleep?” Tony snipped sardonically, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Why can’t you let an old man rest, Brucie?”

“Peter’s alive.”

Tony’s hand slipped from the edge of the bed and knocked into the frame. He didn’t even notice the pain of his scraped knuckles as Bruce’s words echoed through his brain. “What?”

Bruce took a long breath. “We thought-well, we all thought that he was dead, but he disappeared from Steve’s room and we found him when he found you. He was the one who found you when you…you know.” He gestured to Tony’s bandaged arms.

Tony rubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck. He-Jesus. Is he okay? I…fuck, I thought I imagined him. Is he badly hurt? Christ, when can I see him, Bruce?”

“Tony, hey, calm down, okay?” Bruce put one hand on Tony’s shoulder and the other on his side, pushing him back into the pillows. Tony abruptly realized he’d been halfway out of bed, his hands vibrating with the need to find his son, to make sure he was really alive and okay. “He’s all right, I promise. Or as all right as he can be at the moment. He’s on his way down here now, okay?”

The door flew open just as Bruce uttered the last syllable of his sentence and Peter stumbled in, Steve hot on his heels. He made eye contact with Tony and abruptly stilled, silence falling for a few moments.

When Tony spoke, his voice was scratchy, uneven with hesitation. “Peter?”

Peter still seemed frozen, wide eyes fixed on Tony. Finally, Steve propelled him forward gently until he was standing so close that Tony could hear his slightly elevated breathing.

“Steve?” Tony said quietly.

“We’ll have words later.” Steve’s voice was firm, but the softness in his eyes told Tony that the anger was righteous. “I’m glad you’re okay. And I love you, so much.”

“Dad?”

Tony looked at Peter, taking his hand gently. His son was shaking minutely, eyes darting from the bandages on Tony’s arms to his face and back down again.

“Peter, I…Christ. I am so sorry,” Tony whispered, squeezing Peter’s hand in his own. “And I am so glad to see you, and I-I am so sorry that you had to see what you saw—”

“I don’t want you to apologize!” Peter’s voice cracked on the last word, his eyes red. “I missed you. I missed you and pops and I was so-I was so scared that I was never-never going to see you again.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” Tony pulled Peter down onto the bed with him, shifting over to make space for him, and carefully wrapped his arms around his son. Peter pushed his face into Tony’s neck, his shoulders shaking. “I promise that everything is okay now. You’re safe with us-with me, with pops, with Bruce and Nat and Clint and Phil and Thor.”

Steve backed away quietly, going to stand against the wall with Bruce, who was avidly pretending to read a text on his phone. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“Of course,” Bruce said softly. “Don’t be too hard on him, okay? He hasn’t relapsed in so long and this was an isolated, stress-based incident.”

“I’m not going to be hard on him at all,” Steve protested. “This whole fucked-up situation has been hard enough on all of us, hard enough for a lifetime.”

Bruce chuckled dryly. “I almost don’t want to say it, but I can’t not. Language, Cap.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Steve smiled softly, his eyes wandering to his husband and son lying on the bed. “I could always use the reminder.”


End file.
